by C. R. May
The northern reaches of Swede Land and Noregr held a certain rugged beauty and no doubt the inhabitants were as attached to it as he was to Geatland, but it was not his land. The words of his father came to his mind as he guided the Tusker west.
‘Many lands are beautiful Beowulf, but no other seeps into your body and soul like that of your homeland. The very soil is made from generations of your kin and folk.’
Soon after the sun had passed its highest point Egil took back the steer board for the final part of the journey. A bay opened up to their left, at the head of which Beowulf could see a large town. Egil nodded in its direction. “North Market.”
They spent the rest of the day and that night as guests of the thegn of North Market. King Ongentheow had warned him of his intention to overstay at the hall before the man had left the leidang and all had been prepared. Unfortunately, Beowulf had been the only member of the party not to enjoy the entertainment laid on for his guests by the thegn, Ottar.
Beowulf had recognised the man as soon as he entered the hall. He had seen the act before, both at Ealdorman Alfhelm’s hall at Geatwic and later at Alfhelm’s hunting lodge the night before Hythcyn had killed his elder brother Herebeald in the hunting ‘accident’. The death had been the catalyst which had destroyed the unity of the Swertings and led directly to the current wraecscipe, the state of exile, of most of its members, Beowulf included.
Beowulf had made his excuses and left the hall for the duration of the act. Somehow the antics of the leaping, farting man just didn’t seem funny any longer.
The following day had dawned bright and fresh and the king had risen much earlier than of late. Clearly the ship journey south and an evening of laughter and relaxation among his friends and warriors were having a rejuvenating effect on the old Swede.
The king and his steward rode at the head of the column of horsemen as they leisurely wend their way along the road which ran south west from North Market to the town of Lionga. Beowulf was pleased to be riding alongside Kormak, immediately behind the king. They had become good friends during the few days which they had known one another and the warm morning sun on his face only added to his feeling of well being.
Around them the first signs of spring were colouring the land. A mist of fresh green shoots covered the trees which marched away to either side of the road. Soon it would be impossible to penetrate their foliage, especially on horseback, and men would have to hunt in more open lands. King Ongentheow had chosen the time of the hunt well, Beowulf decided. He was looking forward to it immensely.
“Have you hunted at Ravenswood before, Kormak?”
Kormak leaned forward and stroked the side of his horse’s neck affectionately.
“We have, haven’t we boy. It is a fine lodge set in good hunting ground. You will enjoy it Beowulf.”
“I can’t wait. It is just what I need after the long winter. To be able to ride in the open again and eat freshly hunted venison. Ohthere was a magnificent host for the winter but the snows up north close everything down for months on end!”
Kormak laughed aloud and turned to Beowulf.
“Yes, I heard that you had a hard time up there. Troll killing with Eanmund, crossing the mountains of Noregr in midwinter and sailing the German Sea to torment your enemy. Did I miss anything out?” A twinkle entered his eye and he flicked a cautionary glance towards the king. “Oh yes,” he said in a lower tone, “seducing Ohthere’s daughter. What is your idea of a busy few months my friend, Ragnarok?”
They both roared with laughter.
King Ongentheow smiled and looked back at the pair of friends, nodding his approval. Beowulf suddenly realised that the king had invited them on this trip not only to discuss arrangements with his father but to assess how well that they would fit into Swedish society. He looked back along the column. Kormak’s warriors and his own men were now mixed together and conversing freely.
Beowulf suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that the return of himself and the other Geat eardwræccan, his father, Heardred, Alfhelm, was very far from the most pressing matter on Swedish minds. In a moment of clarity he realised that they had become very useful pieces in the giant tafl game which was the relations between kings. Heardred was being sent to serve in the Swedish army in the East and he was to be married into the family.
Suddenly the day seemed to be not so perfect, the sun not so warm. They had become small pieces in the game and would be left on the board until the Swedes decided that they had become useful or disposable. Heardred’s words came to him.
‘You are involved in big boys games now and the losers die.’
It was a disquieting realisation and as if to emphasise his change in mood a sharp pain stabbed once more through his head. He had felt the pressure building up slowly over the previous days but still hoped that he had been imagining it. Now there could be no doubt, his affliction was growing worse.
Downcast, he completed the remainder of the journey to Lionga in near silence despite Kormak’s good natured attempts at conversation.
As they approached the outskirts of Lionga it was clear that something was wrong. The people in the outlying homes were packing together small amounts of food and what looked like their most valuable possessions and were preparing to leave the area. Already several families could be seen amongst the trees moving away from the town and into the deeper parts of the forest.
Ongentheow dug in his heels and accelerated into the open area at the heart of the settlement. Amazed faces turned towards him as he dismounted and, pushing a group of warriors aside, entered a large hall which stood just off of the main road. Beowulf, Kormak and the rest of the column leapt from their mounts as they came up to the place. Kormak roughly pulled a warrior round to face him.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
The man still looked shocked that his king had just swept past him but he swallowed and pointed to the North.
“A host has attacked the lodge at Ravenswood!”
Beowulf looked where the man had indicated. A thin line of smoke rose into the sky several miles to the north of the town before it dissipated in the higher air.
Stern faced, Kormak indicated to Beowulf that he should follow him into the building. He turned to one of his men.
“Eirik, see that the horses are fed and watered, it looks as though they are about to do some hard riding. Grab what you can for yourselves also, but stay in sight of this building!”
Clapping Beowulf on the arm he led the pair through the open doorway and into the dimly lit hall. Grim faced warriors were milling about in confusion as they awaited orders.
“Where is the king?”
“At the rear, lord, with the jarl.”
Beowulf followed Kormak as he hurried through the groups of warriors until he caught sight of Ongentheow, kneeling beside a wounded man.
They came up behind the king and listened to their conversation in an attempt at gleaning some indication of what was going on.
“How many are there?”
“A full host, lord, an army. Maybe one thousand men?”
Ongentheow pursed his lips.
“It’s not just a raid then.”
Kormak nodded to a large fierce looking man standing to one side of the king who acknowledged him with a curt nod. The king continued to question the badly wounded man on the floor.
For the first time Beowulf noticed that the warrior had recently lost the lower part of his right arm. He had tightened a length of thonging around the bloody stump in an attempt to stem the blood flow but it had only been partially successful.
Beowulf watched as blood oozed from the wound onto the floor and seeped into the warrior's already soaked clothing. Flicking a look up at the man’s face told Beowulf that he had reached his last day on middle earth. His pale face and blue lips told the unmistakable tale of a man whose wyrd had run its course. It was a look which was familiar to all warriors.
“Why are you here if my cwen is taken and your companion
s are slain?” The king was asking.
“I lost my sword, lord.”
Ongentheow grew apoplectic.
“You lost your sword? So pick another one up man! There must have been dozens lying around!”
The stricken warrior slowly raised the gory remains of his sword arm.
“I am sorry, lord. I needed one hand to hold my reins and decided that the best way that I could serve my cwen was to try and get help before I bled out!”
Ongentheow sighed and wearily rubbed his face. The man had been insolent to him but he had to admit that he had good cause.
“I am sorry. I never noticed your wound. You did your duty well and I have been less than noble towards you.”
The king leaned forward and laid his hand on the dying warrior's head.
“What is your name friend?”
“Thorfinn, lord.”
“Thor sits well with your fierceness. Travel well Thorfinn.”
Ongentheow rose and turned towards them.
“Amund, where can we talk?”
“Through here, lord.”
As Jarl Amund stood aside to allow the king to enter a smaller room to the rear of the building, a frail voice came from the floor behind them.
“King Ongentheow.”
Turning back the king smiled at the stricken warrior.
“What is it Thorfinn?”
“If you see an arm up there still holding a sword could you leave it, I may still have a chance to die with a sword in my hand and feast in valhall!” The warrior tried to laugh but the noise developed into a harsh rasping cough.
They all smiled at the grim humour of the dying man. Ongentheow turned to Amund.
“Make sure that the prettiest woman here tends to his last moments. He was a brave man and he deserves to see beauty in his last moments.”
The room which they entered turned out to be the buttery. It was the place where the butts of ale and mead were kept and they readily helped themselves to a cup as they waited for the king to speak. He turned to his jarl and snapped a question.
“Right, what do we know?”
“Thorfinn is my only source of information so far, lord. He only arrived here a short while ago and I was on the other side of town. As you heard there appears to be an army of maybe one thousand which has attacked and taken the lodge at Ravenswood. Heavily outnumbered and surprised men have been known to overestimate the numbers of their opponents as you know, lord. I have sent two good men with orders to see what they can find out and get back here as fast as they can.”
The king nodded.
“When are they due back?”
“Any time now. I told them no heroics, just find out what you can and get yourselves back here. They are good lads, lord, they will be here soon.”
Ongentheow nodded gravely.
“No news of the cwen?”
Amund shook his head sadly.
“No, lord.”
Ongentheow cast his eyes downward and sighed.
“Then we must assume that she is taken.”
Beowulf had listened uncomfortably to the conversation. His mind had raced as he had desperately tried to think of an army other than Hythcyn’s combined Geat and Bronding force which could have mounted such an attack but in truth there was no other. He decided to bring the matter into the open.
“Do we know who leads this army, Jarl Amund?”
Amund snorted in derision.
“I wonder where they could have come from. Apart from our friends the Wuffingas to the South, who is there?”
Beowulf nodded and looked to the king.
“I agree it must be my uncle, lord. Would you like me to take my men and retire back to North Market or shall we remain here under guard?”
King Ongentheow smiled wearily.
“Beowulf, that is the first stupid thing that I have heard you say since I have come to know you. You know that your father is at Ravenswood and very likely dead. The cwen is in little danger, she will be ransomed if we cannot intercept them and rescue her. You have perhaps more motive than any man here to fight.”
He took a swig of ale and glanced across to his hearth warrior.
“Kormak, what do you think of our Geat friend here?”
Kormak smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
“I trust Beowulf, lord, and his men. I would be happy to have them in my shield wall.”
Ongentheow refilled Beowulf’s cup from the ale butt, and handed it back.
“Good try Beowulf, but it seems that you will have to die with us today. Welcome aboard!”
All faces turned towards them as they left the buttery and strode through the hall. Beowulf noticed that a young woman was already sitting on the floor beside Thorfinn, gently wiping his brow as an older woman retied his thonging.
Travel well Thorfinn.
As they swept through the hall the crowd of warriors took up their weapons and fell in behind them. A decision had clearly been made and their services would soon be required. Although the doorway stood higher than most, Beowulf instinctively dipped his head as he passed through. At least a head taller than almost any man he had known, he had hit his head on enough door heads in the past for it to become second nature.
Emerging into the sunlit clearing before the hall, they were overjoyed to see that the numbers of warriors present had risen whilst they had been inside. Amund raised his hand in recognition to two men on horseback who were clearly his thegns. They dismounted and made their way across, clearly surprised to find that their king was amongst them.
Ongentheow looked as surprised at their presence as they had at his. Turning to Amund he smiled brightly.
“Where did these men come from?”
Amung looked embarrassed. He had forgotten to tell the king about the recall at their discussion in the buttery.
“I am sorry, lord. I neglected to mention that I sent fast riders out to overtake my thegns and tell them to return straight away. They were the men who accompanied me to the leidang. They only left the hall this morning so they should all be with us by late afternoon. I told the two who have halls to the north of here to work their way back along the road which leads to Ravenswood. That way I would meet them on the way if I felt strong enough to move against the invaders.”
King Ongentheow beamed at his jarl and hit him joyfully on the chest.
“Amund, excellent work! How many men can we expect?”
The big jarl perked up immediately at the praise from his king.
“There are three more of my thegns yet to return, each accompanied by ten mounted and fully armed warriors, so that will be fifty-five in total, plus my fifty house warriors and myself. At the moment I can provide you with one hundred and six of the best warriors in the North, lord!” he announced proudly. “In addition I told the riders to continue on and raise the levy from among the villages and tell them to head to Ravenswood, so our force should grow by the hour!”
Ongentheow nodded. He seemed a little overwhelmed by his jarl’s loyalty and energy on behalf of his cwen.
“Well, I am afraid that I can only swell our numbers by myself and my six warriors plus Beowulf and his three," he laughed, "but they are the best of the best. We have the makings of a hard hitting force and we have surprise on our side. Things aren’t as black as they appeared when I arrived.”
King Ongentheow flashed them a smile.
“Let’s arm ourselves.”
The clatter of hooves drew their attention to the road which led northwards from the town. As they watched, a rider, his red cloak streaming in his wake, entered the square and reined in. Scanning the clearing he recognised Amund and, throwing himself from his horse, raced across.
Beowulf smiled as a look of shock passed across the man’s face as he slid to a halt in front of his king. They all laughed as the rider's mouth fell open and he looked from his jarl to his king and back again, his mind frantically trying to decide which man he should report his information to.
Ongentheow smiled
encouragingly at the warrior and handed him his own cup of ale.
“Here, clear you throat and report your news to me.”
The rider nervously took the cup and gratefully swallowed the ale. He had clearly ridden hard to return with his report of the enemy forces and his face and clothes were covered in a fine grey dust. His reddened eyes blinked continuously as they attempted to wash away the grit which filled them. Turning his head away for a moment he hawked and spat a great, grey, gobbet of phlegm onto the dusty roadway. Turning back sheepishly he cleared his throat and began.
“Sorry, lord. There are five hundred Geats and Brondings at the lodge. Two hundred are in and around the lodge itself and three hundred were looting the dead whilst I was there, strung out along the road which leads south.”
The king’s face lit up.
“Five hundred! Are you sure?”
The warrior pulled himself upright as if his abilities had been questioned.
“Yes, lord. There are five hundred men there. And there is something else.”
Ongentheow raised his eyebrows in hope and expectation.
“Well, spit it out man!”
“They are led by their king, lord. I saw a man who must be their king riding beneath the Geat white boar flag.”
Beowulf’s heart leapt. Hythcyn was here with only five hundred warriors!
The Swedes looked joyfully at one another. It was not a full scale invasion that much was clear, it was a raid after all. Ongentheow smiled as it all became clear to them.
“They didn’t even know that Æthelhild was there! They must have learnt that Beowulf’s father, Ecgtheow, and Ealdorman Alfhelm were at the lodge. They were the targets not the cwen!”
He laughed.
“They will soon know who they have taken that’s for sure. Saxon women let their feelings known, I have learnt that much over the years!”
Ongentheow turned to Beowulf and rested his hand on his shoulder.